


In From the Storm

by Rheynin



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mild Smut, Modern AU, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22017544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheynin/pseuds/Rheynin
Summary: After witnessing the onscreen death of Arthur Morgan, lightening strikes the reader’s game console, and she’s suddenly faced with the man himself.
Relationships: Reader/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	In From the Storm

1  
The tears are streaming down your face as you watch the man on the screen pull himself over to a rock, his breathing harsh and ragged. He was a fictional character, but the hours you had spent playing had made you fall in love with him, this kind and complicated man. Watching him slowly succumb to tuberculosis while his family was shattered had been nearly as painful as watching it happen to a friend, or would have been, if you had any close friends. That was probably why you’d gotten so attached to him in the first place. Now here he was, having lost nearly everything that had ever mattered to him, staring into the sunset and drawing his last breath.  
Just as your body became wracked with sobs, his chest stilling on screen, a white flash blinded you. At the very same time, a crack of thunder sounded, the loudest you’d ever heard, making your ears ring. A blood curdling scream echoed through the living room as sudden darkness enveloped you, only stopping after you realized it was you screaming. You did your best to calm yourself, telling yourself that it was just a sudden storm, and a lightening strike that had cut the power. It had nearly worked, too, when you suddenly heard a groan from the floor of the living room.  
Panic gripped you, your hands shaking as you turned on the flashlight of your phone. You moved it around quickly, finally settling on a hunched, naked figure in the middle of the floor. Thought you jumped back initially, there was something familiar about the figure. You dimmed the light slightly, aiming it at the figure again. Though the figure lay on his knees, curled into a ball, there was definitely something about the slope of the shoulders, the bend of his arms. Maybe it was the color of his hair. Either way . . . .  
“Arthur?”  
He looked up, his eyes catching the light in them, and you saw the familiar steel blue for a moment before he squinted them closed, groaning again. It was definitely him. How, why, you had no idea, but he was here, in your living room. Arthur Morgan. Naked.  
You ran as quickly as you could to your bedroom, grabbing the first blanket you found and bringing it back to throw across him. He was shuffling around softly now, trying to find something familiar. Slowly, carefully, so you didn’t startle him, you began rubbing your hand across his back, trying to soothe him.  
“Hey, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, now. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.”  
He glanced up toward your face, illuminated by the light of your phone. His eyes darted back and forth, apparently trying to make some sense of where he was. It began to slowly dawn on him that he could breathe freely, without pain, and that the injuries he should have had weren’t hurting. A look of confusion briefly crossed his face.  
“Must be dead, then. Ain’t no other explanation.”  
“You’re not dead, Arthur. Kind of the opposite, actually. But you are in a very different world than the one you know.”  
He shook his head. “I got no idea what the hell is going on.”  
“Me either, really,” you sighed. “But you’re here. And, somehow, we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you.”  
He looked into your eyes, his face softening somewhat. The fact was, neither of you really had a choice in the situation. If he left, there was no way he’d make it on his own. Even in the dim light of your phone, he could see that nothing here was like he remembered. He’d never be able to make sense of it without help.  
“I reckon I got to trust you. But, uhm, if you don’t mind,” he said, readjusting and glancing downward, “could we find me some clothes?”

2  
After rummaging around your bedroom for several minutes, you finally found an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked about the right size for him, and handed them to him to put on. Though the shirt was a bit tight, and the pants a little short, they fit well enough to make do, and Arthur seemed to be fascinated with how soft the material was. While he dressed, you had managed to find a few candles, placing them on the dresser and lighting them.  
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, stretching the limits of the t-shirt nearly to ripping. He looked about as shocked and confused as you’d expect someone to look, if they’d just been beaten and left to die, then woke up suddenly in a stranger’s living room. Onscreen, you’d seen this man kill people without a second thought, sometimes with his bare hands. Now he looked helpless, defenseless, barely able to cope with the reality of the situation. You sighed heavily, reaching out to touch the side of his arm gently.  
“Are you doing okay? I mean, y’know, besides the whole ‘dead then waking up in a different world’ thing?”  
He let out a small huff of laughter, his heart not really in it. “Suppose so. What choice’ve I got?”  
You smiled at him gently. “I know, and I’m sorry. But I promise, I’m gonna help you through this. Whatever it takes.”  
He looked at you, giving you a half smile and nod of acknowledgement. After a minute of silence, you decided that, while there were a great many things Arthur would have to learn to cope with in this world, it was late and you were incredibly tired.  
“Arthur, is there anything you need right now? Are you hungry? Tired? Need to go to the bathroom?”  
“Bit tired, I guess.”  
You nodded, “Alright. We’ll head to bed in a minute. First, though, I’m gonna show you the bathroom, just in case you need it during the night.”  
It took a few minutes of brief explanation, with several questions coming up along the way, but finally you were both satisfied that he understood how things worked. Once that was taken care of, you lead him back to the bedroom. You gestured at the bed, instructing him to get in. He started to protest, but you cut him off, holding up your hand.  
“Look, I know it’s strange, but, frankly, after all this, I’m too tired to fix anyplace else to sleep, and I’d rather you be close to me, anyway, in case you have questions or something. So just get in bed, okay? If it’s uncomfortable for you, I promise I’ll do something different tomorrow.”  
He nodded, then sat down on the bed, jumping up again as it sank beneath his weight and making you giggle in spite of yourself.  
“It’s okay. It’s memory foam, it’s supposed to do that.” You got on the bed yourself in example, his eyes following you as you sank into the mattress. Carefully, he sat down, then turned and laid on his back, arms stiff at his sides. While you watched, he seemed to accept that it wasn’t going to collapse under him, and relaxed. Soon, he shifted into a more comfortable position.  
“You sure I ain’t dead?”  
“Almost positive, Arthur.”  
“Alright then.”  
Thought you expected both of your minds to be whirring with questions, you found that your mind was completely silent, reaching towards sleep as fast as you would let it. Instead of fighting it, you gave in, and soon both you and Arthur were fast asleep.

3  
You woke the next morning to Arthur flailing wildly, tangling himself in the sheets and throwing you off the bed as a result. You jump up with a start, completely confused until you see him, wide eyed, head whipping around frantically in search of something familiar. The previous night floods back to you, and you start using the same calming voice you did when you first spoke to him. Something about it must be familiar to him, because his eyes lock on you immediately, and you can almost see in them the way his mind is swimming towards you, like a drowning man to a narrow strip of land.  
“Wha- what the hell happened? I thought I was dead. But, then . . . .” He trailed off, the memory coming back to him a little at a time. You can’t blame him for feeling confused. Last night, in the dim light of the candles, there wasn’t much to be seen. By the harsh light of morning, your bedroom must look like the different world that it is to him.  
He puts his head in his hands, and for a minute you’re genuinely worried he’s about to have a breakdown. Instead, he just looks up at you, and you sit down beside him, speaking softly.  
“You okay?”  
“I think so. It’s just . . . this is a lot to take in. I was dying, I remember. I had tb. Then, I was on the mountain, fighting with Micah, and Dutch . . . .” He swallowed hard. “He stopped me. I could have killed the bastard, he was responsible for so many deaths, and Dutch stopped me.” He looked at you again. “But then, there was lightning, and thunder, and I was somewhere else. Bright light, then, I saw you. You said- I’m in a different world?”  
You nodded. You didn’t know how he would take it, but you wanted him to hear the truth, as you knew it, as soon as possible. Waiting would only mean more pain later on.  
“I’m not sure exactly how to say this, but I’m going to do the best I can. Im sorry if I say something that you already know, or that hurts you, but-“ you pause for a moment, trying to figure out the easiest way to explain it to him. “ Do you remember Francis Sinclair? The man you helped with the rock carvings?” He nodded, feeling like he knew where this was going. “Well, this is, from your time, about a hundred and twenty years in the future. But that’s not the only thing I need to tell you.”  
You scooted a bit closer to him, putting your hand over his to try to ground him and soften the blow. There wasn’t going to be an easy way to do this, but doing it quickly, while he was still a little in shock, might make it easier for him to accept. At least, you hoped it would.  
“In this world, Arthur- you don’t technically exist. I mean . . . well, you didn’t. Until last night. You were, uh, well . . . you and your friends were all fictional characters. In a video game I played. I know you don’t know what that is, and I’m sorry. The best way I can explain it is to say that it’s like an interactive book, with moving pictures. And you were the main character.”  
He looked at you, baffled. He understood basically what you meant, but how could he be a fictional character, if he was flesh and blood now? How could he have the memories that he had of life, growing up, his friends and family, if it had never been real? Then again, he’d been about to die, as far as he knew it, but now he felt strong and healthy again, like he had before tuberculosis had set in. Maybe he didn’t even have it anymore. Maybe this was a second chance.  
“I was gonna die anyway, and I’d made my peace with being without my family, and them being without me, at least as much as I could have. Though I know I got a lot to learn, I reckon I ought to be grateful I get a second chance.”  
You smiled at him sadly, knowing how much it must still hurt him to be parted from everybody he loved. Instead of dwelling on it, you offered him a bath or shower, which he gratefully accepted. Interest and curiosity got to him, and he opted for the shower, which he learned surprisingly quickly. You gave him all of the supplies he needed, then excused yourself to give him privacy, getting dressed and looking for breakfast while you waited.  
He emerged nearly half an hour later, apparently having thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of the warm water running over him. He seemed happier, a content smile on his lips as he found you in the kitchen. You wordlessly handed him a cup of coffee and the two of you sat at the table, drinking in silence. After a few minutes, you got up and pulled out a few cinnamon rolls you had left over, offering him one as you took one for yourself.  
He must have enjoyed it, because he ate the rest of the plate by himself, with you chuckling at how hungry he seemed. Halfway through he stopped, seemingly embarrassed, but you assured him he could eat as much as he wanted, and he plowed through the rest like he’d never eaten in his life. When he was done, you took the plates to the sink, intending to wash them later, but he insisted on washing them as a thank you for helping and feeding him.  
As you watched him figuring out the logistics of the sink, you realized exactly how much he needed clothes that actually fit him. The sweatpants and t-shirt were okay, but as tight as the shirt was, it couldn’t be very comfortable. Plus he didn’t have any shoes at all, and your feet were much smaller than his, so he couldn’t even borrow those.  
While he put the last of the dishes in the rack, you pulled out your laptop. You knew it was going to be interesting, to say the least, to introduce him to this modern marvel, but you wanted to know what kind of clothes he might like, and you thought him having some basic information about cars before he had to actually ride in one would be helpful.  
You called him over, doing your best to explain it before starting it up. You also started realizing exactly how much you would have to explain about advertising (the very word made him panic, after his adventure with Hosea), and the difference in today’s culture versus the one he knew. Before you got too deep in, however, he stopped you.  
“I know I ain’t in the world I knew, not by half. Figured that out pretty quick this morning. I appreciate you taking the time to ease me in, but I reckon some things I’m just gonna have to figure out along the way. So as long as you promise to answer any stupid questions I got.”

4  
You laughed, then pulled up some videos of cars, explaining that they went much, much faster than he was used to. When he seemed satisfied with that, you moved onto the website of a store not far away to help him pick out some clothes. Unfortunately, despite the fact that it was still fall, they were heavily advertising swimwear, particularly ladies swimwear. As you watched Arthur’s eyes widen and his face grow flushed, you struggled to switch to menswear as quickly as you could. When you’d finally switched, you had to explain to him that clothing, especially women’s clothing, was a great deal different nowadays.  
“I figured that out pretty quick. Jesus! I’m just glad you ain’t dressed like that.”  
You pulled an uneasy face. “Actually, I’m dressed like this because it’s cool outside right now. I don’t dress quite like that, at least not daily, but I wear shorts and tank tops when it’s hot.”  
Arthur’s eyes bugged out slightly, making you laugh again before you drew his attention to the clothes on the screen. It took a good bit of time, but eventually you were able to get the things he’d like narrowed down enough to feel comfortable taking him to the store. You measured his waist and inseam first, somewhat to his discomfort, so that you could be in and out as quickly as possible.  
The ride, once you got him in and buckled, was decently smooth. You took back roads, so you could go a bit slower, and tried not to make any sudden moves. He was definitely a bit uncomfortable, but seem to relax a little more as the drive went on. He was quick to get out when you got to the store, though.  
You took his arm, guiding him into the store. The first thing you did was get him to pick out shoes, before he got into trouble for not wearing any. Unsurprisingly, he picked a pair of sturdy work boots that slipped on, in brown. You had him put them on immediately, saving the box and tags to pay for them on the way out. After that, you got him a few pairs of sweatpants in the proper size, a few colors of t-shirts, a few simple flannel shirts, and then you handed him a few styles of jeans and pushed him towards the dressing room.  
“Ah, come on. I really gotta try these on? Can’t we just buy some?”  
“No. You might not be comfortable in them, and I don’t have the money to buy things you won’t wear. Now get in there and try them on!”  
The dressing room attendant rolled her eyes, laughing quietly as Arthur made his way to the back room, grumbling. About a minute and a half later, you heard him loudly cursing, then a sound like heavy fabric being thrown. Several minutes and a lot of rustling later, and Arthur emerged, pushing one of the pairs of jeans at you.  
“These, goddammit.” He growled, while you passed the other pairs to the attendant, who was doing her best to stifle a laugh. “We done now?”  
“Not quite, angry-pants,” you laughed, while he stood scowling at you like a petulant child. “But I promise you won’t have to try anything else on.”  
He continued grumbling to himself as he followed you to pick up a couple more pairs of jeans in the same style. Then, you moved on to the next section of the store, where you picked up a package of white undershirts and sports socks. Then you lead him over to the underwear.  
“Well, cowboy, pick your style.”  
He raised his eyebrows at you. “You gotta be kidding me?”  
“Hey, feel free to go without, but it’s probably a bit more comfortable to wear something underneath your jeans, at least.”  
After looking a few minutes, he pointed towards a package of long boxer briefs. You found his size, debated teasing him about what colors he’d like, and decided against it. He’d had enough for the day already, and it wasn’t even time for lunch.  
Once you’d paid for everything, he grabbed the bags and insisted on carrying them to the car for you, making more than a few girlfriends nudge their boyfriends and point your way. Before you closed the trunk on them, however, you grabbed a pair of socks, tossing them into his lap as you got behind the wheel.  
“Wear ‘em with your boots. I’m not letting your feet and boots stink in my house.”  
Though he complained, he did what you asked, and you suspected it was more because of his bad mood leftover from the dressing room than because he didn’t want to. While he pulled the socks and boots back on, you cranked the car and played some music, settling on some soft old school style country that, for whatever reason, was labeled “folk” music.  
Though initially he made a face at the strange music, you noticed that he seemed more relaxed than he had before, and you turned it up just a bit higher. Arthur clearly wasn’t as nervous this ride, and before you knew it, one of your favorite songs came on and you started singing along, getting louder and adding in the silly dance moves you always did when you were driving alone. You heard a soft chuckle and looked over the find Arthur watching you, a smile on his face.  
“Sorry. I’m kind of a dumbass sometimes. I’ll stop if it bothers you,” you said, feeling a blush on your cheeks.  
“Don’t stop on my account,”he laughed. “I was just watching you have a good time.”  
You stuck your tongue out at him playfully, but couldn’t find the courage to keep singing the way you had before. Though he’d said he didn’t mind, knowing he was watching made you feel much more self conscious, and you ended up not doing more than mouth the words the rest of the ride home. Arthur wished he hadn’t laughed or said anything. He had actually liked hearing you sing.  
Once you were home with all of Arthur’s new clothes, you popped off all of the tags and got ready to wash them. When Arthur heard there was a machine that cleaned the clothes on its own, he insisted on watching you.  
“Honestly, Arthur, it’s not that interesting. You can’t even watch it clean them, I don’t have a fancy one with a glass door.”  
“Maybe its just not interesting to you ‘cause you’re so used to it. I ain’t never seen anything like it.”  
He had a good point, one you had to keep in mind when it came to everything, so you let him watch, explaining it as much as you could as you went along. There were some questions you couldn’t answer, but you told him you could always look them up for him on the computer later. That started an entire conversation about computers and the internet, which you also couldn’t properly explain, so you showed him how to use the laptop to look up things while you made lunch.  
As you pulled out your veggie burgers, you realized that he’d probably never even heard of the idea of being a vegetarian, and he almost certainly wouldn’t understand it. That might make things pretty difficult, since even thinking about raw meat made your stomach churn. You weren’t about to be one of those people who tried to sneak something meatless in, though, so you did your best to broach the subject. It turned out that, while he was skeptical that it was possible to be healthy without eating meat, he was more than willing to try it, at least. It turned out that he’d never heard of or seen burgers, either, so it was an entirely new experience for him. He opted to leave off any condiments and just try the patty and bread together. You waited, watching him chew thoughtfully, then swallow.  
“You know, it ain’t too bad. Sure ain’t worse than some of the stuff Pearson’s made.” He started laughing initially, but it died out quickly as a sad look settled on his face. “I guess ain’t none of that was real, though.” He put his food down, drawing in a deep shaky breath. “All my friends, my family- none of it was real. It was all just a game.”  
You could see tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill despite how hard he was trying to control himself. Without thinking twice, you rushed to his side, throwing your arms around him and pulling him into a fierce hug. As you stroked the back of his head, he gave in, letting the tears he’d been holding back fall freely. Tears of your own threatened. How do you mourn something that never existed?  
“They were real, though. They were real to you, and that’s what matters.” You placed your hands on the side of his face, looking into his eyes. “Plus, each of those characters, those people, they brought joy to so many people all over the world. They were real to those people too, and they’re real to the people who created them, and the people who gave them voices, and personalities.” You pulled him into another big squeeze. “Just because they’re fictional doesn’t mean they’re not real.”  
He hugged you back desperately, needing the feel of something solid. After a few minutes, he let go of you, wiping his eyes.  
“I’m real sorry. I don’t mean to burden you like this. First you’re buying me things, teaching me things, and then I gotta go and get all sad on you. Just don’t worry about me none, alright?”  
You rolled your eyes, putting your hand on top of his. “You’re not a burden, Arthur. I promise you that. I’m happy to help you.”  
You looked into his eyes, a gentle smile across your lips. He returned with a half smile, sadness still settled in his eyes. You squeezed his hand quickly, then returned to your food, hoping you hadn’t overstepped your bounds. As you stare, He watched you, wondering what the warmth he felt blooming in the pit of his stomach could possibly mean.

5  
After he’d washed the dishes and you’d cleaned up the kitchen, you both headed into the living room. You put on some more music, then sat down so the two of you could talk. He asked plenty more questions, doing his best to get a grip on the world he’d been suddenly thrust into. Occasionally he’d stop to listen to the music you had on, sometimes telling you that he liked it, and sometimes asking you to change it.  
You asked some questions of your own, curious about how deep his memories went. Somewhat surprisingly, he had memories that went well beyond the game. He remembered his past just like anyone else would, both the life he had before the gang and after he’d joined. He told you a few stories about things that had happened prior to game events, but when you noticed the sadness started to set in again, you quickly changed the subject. At one point, it occurred to you that he had no knowledge of modern law.  
“Arthur, you do realize that you can’t rob and shoot people, or even get in fights like you used to, right?”  
He laughed. “First of all, I never did any of that if I could help it. Second, I was trying to be better before I died, and I’m sure as hell gonna try now. I got a second chance in front of me, and I don’t plan on wasting it. I’m gonna be a good man, and I’m gonna make sure I ain’t a burden on you.”  
You smile at him for what feels like the millionth time in the past twenty four hours.  
“I keep telling you, Arthur, you’re not a burden. I’m doing these things for you and with you because I want to. You need the help, and I’m happy to give it. I appreciate your concern, but you don’t have to worry. Trust me, if I get pissed, you’ll know.”  
You both laugh again, and spend the rest of the afternoon listening to music, helping him find things that he likes and make note of them. You also give him an empty sketchbook you have lying around, along with some pencils, and immediately he starts making notes and sketching things here and there. Though it’s hard for you to admit, it’s nice having someone else in the house. You’d spent so long being lonely, you’d almost forgotten his comforting just having another person around could be.  
When you head to bed that night, Arthur takes another long shower, reveling in the feeling of clothing still warm from the dryer. He was definitely enjoying modern conveniences. After your shower, you crawled into bed beside him, neither of you questioning it. It felt natural to lay in bed beside each other, talking and laughing. For Arthur, it was a little like the old days in the gang, when he’d shared space, or times when he was camping on a hunting trip with someone. You, it reminded you of days in school, when you had friends you felt close to, and you’d stay at each other’s houses, gossiping until sunrise.  
The next day was Sunday, usually your lazy day, but you’d have to head back to work on Monday, and that meant Arthur had to know enough to make it through the day on his own. He’d gotten used to plumbing easily enough, so you decided to teach him to use the stove, starting with simple things. That’s how you ended up making pancakes with an ex-outlaw.  
“Shit. That one slid all over.”  
“It’s okay, we can still eat it. Just use the spatula to scrape it up.”  
Arthur was really good at the cooking part, less so at the flipping. Normally you made pancakes two or three at a time, but with him, it was best to stick to one, unless you wanted a half raw pancake stack. Every time he had to flip one, he got this look of intense concentration, his tongue poking out just a little, and every time it made you giggle. Of course, that distracted him, and he’d end up flipping it half out of the pan, or with it sliding across the pan in a pancake streak.  
By the time he’d gotten to the last few pancakes, you’d learned to control yourself a bit more, and he’d gotten the hang of flipping. Those came out pretty much perfect, and you told him so, making him beam with pride. You reminded him to turn off the stove, and the two of you sat down to eat. Arthur seemed to have a great love for modern coffee, so that was the next thing you taught him, letting him write everything step by step in his sketchbook. You also reminded him that he could look up anything he needed to on the laptop.  
After all of that, you remembered that you needed clothes for work, so started washing some, Arthur trailing behind you and asking questions about what you did for work. You explained it the best you could, then went about the rest of the day trying to prepare him for anything he might encounter while you were gone. He asked a lot of great questions and helped you think of things you might have missed, and before you know it, you have to head to bed.  
The next morning, Arthur got up at the same time you did, even though you’d told him it was fine if he slept late. He said he was uncomfortable sleeping without you in the house, and he wanted another chance to ask you questions before you left. Since he was up, you made both of you a quick breakfast, and then you were headed out the door. As you turned to tell him goodbye, you cursed yourself for not getting him a phone and teaching him to use it, just in case he needed you.  
“Don’t you worry none about me, I’ll be fine.”  
“I know. I think. Just remember, don’t open the door for anyone, and to turn off the stove if you use it. Drinks are in the fridge.” Your eyes darting, trying to see if there was anything you’d forgotten.  
“I remember.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “You just head on to work. I’ll be alright.”  
You sighed, then impulsively pulled him into a tight hug. His body stiffened, and at first you thought you’d made a mistake in hugging him. Then he relaxed, wrapping his arms around you and resting his cheek against your head. He was warm and comfortable, and smelled so good you found yourself wishing you had a good excuse to stay home with him. Instead, you loosened your grip, slipping out of his arms, and headed off to work.  
After you left, Arthur locked up, just as you’d taught him, and sat down on the couch. He thought about the way you’d hugged him, a smile on his lips. It had felt so nice to be touched like that, comforting and tender. It had felt especially nice since it was you, and that thought sent butterflies through his stomach. What the hell was wrong with him? He barely knew you. Besides, you were probably just taking care of him out of obligation, because you were a kind person. Even if he did feel that way about you- and there was no guarantee he did, mind you, because he was probably just lonely and touch starved- but even if he did, you almost certainly wouldn’t feel the same way. Right?

6  
By the time you got home from work, you’d managed to work yourself into a frenzy worrying about Arthur, so you were relieved to find him napping on the couch. As quietly as you could, you put your things away, then changed out of your work clothes. When you were finished, you kneeled down beside Arthur, gently rubbing his shoulder.  
“Hey, it’s time to get up.” He stirred slightly, so you massaged his shoulder a little more firmly. “I brought you some food, Arthur.”  
His eyes fluttered open, steely blues staring into the distance while he oriented himself. Eventually, they settled on you.  
“Mmm. Hey, you’re home.”  
“Brought you some food?”  
He got up, stretching, then padded behind you with bare feet to the kitchen. You pulled out the two meals you’d stopped by to get on the way home, passing him his, along with a plate from the cabinet to put it on.  
“I thought I’d pick you up a steak, since you love meat so much.”  
“You didn’t have to go and do all that. I’d be fine with whatever’s here.”  
“I know, but I wanted to. And a celebration of you not burning the house down, though I admit I took a bit of a risk on that one.”  
He laughed. “Well thank you very much then.”  
“I should be thanking you! Look at how clean this house is!”  
“That ain’t no problem. Fact is, I’d like it if you could show me how to use the washer, and anything else I can do around here. I ain’t used to sitting still.”  
“Fine, but after dinner. I’ll dig up some books you can read, too, if you want.”  
“I’d appreciate it.”  
After you’d dig up the books, showered, and taught him all you could think of for him to do during the day, there were still a couple of hours left before you usually went to bed, so you suggested watching a movie. You tried to pick something you thought would appeal to him, even though he said he didn’t care, and settled on an old favorite of yours. You decided to watch sitting up in bed, just in case one of you fell asleep.  
Arthur was enthralled. A few scenes made him jump, even though it wasn’t a horror movie, so you tried to warn him of thing that might startle him ahead of time. Before long, the two of you were curled up side by side, with you spending more time watching the childlike wonder on Arthur’s face than the movie itself. Whenever something he particularly liked came onscreen, he’d grab your arm or leg, shaking you to make sure you’d seen it. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you practically had the movie memorized. Besides, watching it with him made it an entirely new experience, although you made a mental note not to ever watch one before bed again. Arthur was hyped up like a child fed too much sugar by the time the movie ended, while you felt like your eyelids were made of lead.  
He turned to you to share his excitement, then saw your giant yawn and heavy eyelids. Instead, he politely thanked you for the experience, and tried to calm himself. He was nearly on the edge of sleep when you reached out, half asleep, and touched his face.  
“I’m glad you’re here, Arthur.”  
You slipped into sleep right after, your hand falling limp on his chest. The butterflies inside of him were set loose again, and his heart was pounding. A part of him wanted to pull you to him, and a part of him knew he should move your hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to do either of those things. Instead, he lifted his hand, slowly, so he didn’t disturb you, and carefully placed his hand over yours. He watched your face for the slightest twitch, and when he saw none, he began to softly slide his fingers up and down yours, stroking the small spaces between.  
He watched your sleeping face, admiring the curve of your cheek, the swell of your lips. The way your eyelashes brushed against your skin. His eyes were drawn to your chest, and the way your breasts rose and fell beneath your t-shirt with each breath. He’d never wanted to be an article of clothing so badly. Just to touch your skin, to feel your warmth against him.  
He closed his eyes to cut off that line of thought. It wouldn’t do him any good to dream about someone who could never feel the same about him, and he was sure you couldn’t. He was just a pathetic old outlaw brought into the wrong world by circumstance. Why would you want him, if there were men out there who knew about this world, who didn’t need help to make dinner or buy pants. He was just a drain on your time and attention, and soon enough you’d get tired of him.  
He slipped your hand out from under his, putting it gently beside you. Then he rolled over, turning his back to you. He knew he had to find some way to stop these feelings, before they drove him insane.  
Later that night, you woke to find him curled up, his back to you and the covers drawn so tightly around him you had almost none. At first, you tried gently pulling them back to you, but he had an iron grip on them. You tried to lay on your side next to him, but not quite touching him, and that was too uncomfortable. In the end, if you didn’t want to freeze, you only had one choice. You curled up behind him, wrapping your arm around his waist, and fell asleep warmer than you’d been all night.

7  
By the time the weekend rolled around again, Arthur had cleaned every possible surface, and he hadn’t burned the house down, so you asked him if he wanted to go out for dinner on Friday night. He agreed readily, more than happy to get out of the house for a bit. He was even happier when you promised to stop by the liquor store on the way home, but you made sure he knew you’d only be drinking after you got back to the house.  
Because you knew most nicer places would be packed, you opted for a little out of the way place where he could get a real meat burger, and you could get a veggie burger. It turned out that he liked actual burgers a lot, even with all of the stuff on them. At one point the waitress made a comment about it looking like he’d never had one before, and you couldn’t help but laugh. She had no idea how accurate her little joke was.  
As promised, you went by the liquor store, letting him come in to help you pick something out. After some searching, you settled on a couple of good old southern brands, dark and sweet, then headed on out. By then, Arthur had gotten enough of how crowded it was, even in your small town, and he was ready for a little peace and quiet. You left the music off in the car, instead making small talk about things that had happened that week, and things that Arthur could possibly do the next week to stave off the boredom he’d faced.  
When you got back to the house, you put on some of the music that he’d mentioned he liked and opened the bottle, taking the first sip. You passed the bottle to him, sitting on the couch, and he joined you. After a while of passing the bottle back and forth, you started to get that lovely warm feeling of relaxation. The two of you talked about anything that popped into your heads, often jumping from subject to subject, and the longer the evening went on, the drunker you both got.  
You were in the middle of a sentence when suddenly you stopped. One of your favorite songs had come on, the one you’d always wanted someone to dance with you to. You decided that night that it absolutely had to be Arthur, pulling him up despite his drunken protests.  
“You don’t want me to dance, I promise. I got two left feet even when I’m sober.”  
You pouted, grabbing his hands and try to pull him up. The man was a damn mountain.  
“Please, Arthur? I just want somebody to dance with me to this song. Pretty please?”  
He watched you making huge puppy eyes at him, exaggerating your pout even more as you tugged on his hands. He thought about how nice it felt to have your hands in his, and how nice it would feel to hold you. Finally he caved.  
“What you want me to do?” He asked, standing up. You grinned widely at him, rushing to restart the song.  
“It’s easy, promise. Al you have to do is hold onto me and sway a little bit.”  
Before he could say anything else, you grabbed his hands again, putting them on your waist, then slid your hands up his arms to rest on his biceps. As you started slowly swaying to the music, you leaned your hips into him slightly, trying to help him move to the beat. He tried his best to not think about how close your hips were to his, focusing on your face instead, but you were looking up at him with so much sweetness it made his heart ache. He bit the inside of his lip lightly, shifting his gaze to the nearby wall instead.  
It was then that you chose to move your hands down, sliding your arms underneath his and wrapping them tightly around his waist. You pulled your body close up against his, still moving gently to the beat. His heart was hammering so fast and hard, he was sure you could hear it from where your head rested on his chest. He may have been drunk, but not so drunk that it didn’t affect him when you started nuzzling into his chest, making his knees feel weak.  
“Mmm. I’m so glad you’re here, Arthur. I’m glad you’re with me.” He murmured indistinctly. “I mean it.” You squeezed your arms tighter around his waist. “You’re so warm, comfortable. It’s nice to be here like this, wrapped in your arms.”  
When you said that, he thought his heart might melt into a puddle beneath his feet. Without even meaning to, he tightened his hold on you, tenderly stroking your back. He knew you’d regret this in the morning, if you remembered it at all, but he wanted to enjoy it while he could. He rubbed his chin against your hair, taking in its softness, and when the song ended, neither of you let go for a long time.  
It didn’t make things any easier for him when you changed to get into bed. Your modesty usually was the first thing to go out of the window when you were drunk, and tonight was no different. You stripped your pants off as soon as you made it through the bedroom door, then peeled off your sweater and tossed your bra in the hamper. He looked on helplessly, very glad your back was facing him, and tried to busy himself with getting on his own pajama pants and t-shirt on. Unfortunately, he kept finding his gaze drifting to you, drinking in the shape of your legs, the curve of your ass, and the line of your back. His breath hitched in his throat as he watched you moving, bending slightly to pull a shirt out of your drawer. He watched, enthralled, as you raised your arms to let it cascade down your body, falling to rest at the top of your thighs.  
He quickly realized that his pants weren’t going to cover the reaction his body had to seeing you that way, and rushed to put on his shirt and crawl beneath the thick blankets, laying on his side. Forgoing pants, much to his dismay, you crawled into bed beside him, cuddling close.  
“God, you’re so warm. You’re like having my own personal heater.” You rubbed your legs up and down against his, curling your arm around his waist and burrowing your nose in his back. Personal space was also something that ceased to exist when you were drunk.  
Even through the haze of alcohol, Arthur was overly aware of how your body felt against his, especially since he’d just seen so much of your skin. If things kept up this way, he was afraid he might spontaneously combust. But instead of stopping, you kept wiggling against him, letting out little huffs and groans as you tried to get comfortable against him. Even worse, you started pulling on his arm, trying to get him to roll over.  
“Would you snuggle with me, Arthur? Just hold me. You’re so warm and cozy, I want to fall asleep in your arms.”  
Blame the alcohol, or blame the loneliness, hell, blame him for not telling you to shut up and go to sleep. Either way, he found his body moving towards you, pulling you close to him. Nesting your body into his side, you rested your head on his shoulder and let your arm drape across his chest, while he rested his hand on your hip. His cheek, rough with stubble, found its way to your forehead, his heart beating wildly inside of his chest.  
More than anything he’d ever wanted in his life, he wanted to glide his fingers across your jawline, tilting your face up to his to kiss you. To roll over, take you into his arms, and tell you that he’d fallen for you, hard, and he’d do anything to make you his. That he’d give you the world, the moon, every star in the sky if you’d just give him a chance. He wanted you to know that he felt safer, more understood with you than he ever had in his whole life, and that he didn’t want to lose that.  
In the end, he said nothing, and he did nothing more than you had asked. He held you close to him all night, waiting for you to wake up and pull away from him. He knew it would happen. It always did.

8  
When you woke the next morning, you were still snuggled beside Arthur, arm thrown around his waist. Luckily, he was still asleep. You slipped away from him as gently as you could, so you didn’t wake him, and rolled into your back, thinking about the night before. It had been a very bad idea for you to drink with Arthur, that was for sure. The things you had said- not that you didn’t mean them, but he probably thought you were so pathetic. Going on and on about how warm he was, and how much you liked being close to him. At least he was polite enough to go along with it. You sighed heavily. The best thing to do would probably be to just pretend it never happened, so nothing got awkward. You gingerly got out of bed, heading to the bathroom.  
Once you’d left, Arthur rolled over, putting his hand to his face. Did you remember any of the things you’d said to him the night before? Even if you did, how much did you regret it? There was no point to asking himself if you did regret it, he was certain you did, he knew it like he knew the color of his own eyes. He could only hope you didn’t bring it up. It was hard enough knowing you’d never want to be with him. Hearing you say it would break his heart.  
When you came out of the bathroom, the bed was empty, and you found Arthur in the kitchen. He’d started making a breakfast of pancakes and eggs, wishing aloud as you came in that he had some bacon.  
“I’ll buy you some meat at the grocery store, as long as you promise to cook it for yourself and wash the pan right away,” you said, yawning.  
“Well, I’d say you ain’t gotta do that, but you’d just tell me to shut up, so I’ll just say thank you instead, alright?”  
You nodded, leaning around him to see if there was anything you could help with, and he elbowed you out of the way.  
“Point taken, it’s your show.” You popped a piece of pancake in your mouth. “Nice flipping, by the way.”  
He nodded at you, concentrating on the next pancake while you watched him from the table. Your thoughts drifted back to the previous night, and the feeling of waking up next to him, and you sighed. If only that were reality. The two of you, sharing a house not as roommates, but as lovers. Sneaking up behind each other, arms around waists, soft kisses pressed into necks. The sound of his laughter in your ear as you teased him about his third cup of coffee.  
“You alright there?”  
His voice snapped you out of your daydream, bringing you back to reality as he put your plate in front of you.  
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Don’t know where my head was. It looks great, by the way.” He nodded his thanks and you both started eating. “It tastes great, too! You’re turning into a wonderful cook, Arthur. I’m so proud of you!”  
A blush tinted his cheeks as he mumbled ‘thank you’, and silence filled the room. After a few minutes, an idea struck you.  
“Hey, what if before we go to the grocery store, we go by the art supply store? That way I can get you a dedicated sketchbook, and maybe some other things, so you’ll have something to do while I’m gone?”  
A look of unease crossed his face, and you could tell he was on the verge of refusing, probably to complain about you spending money on him. In response, you gave him a pleading look and he agreed, making you bust out in a grin. The truth was, you enjoyed spending your money on him. For one thing, it meant it was actually used for something besides bills. But there was also the fact that it felt nice to show him he was worth having money spent on, and being given nice things.  
By the time you got home that evening, Arthur had several new sketchbooks, watercolors, a table easel, paintbrushes, and enough meat to last him the week. He was beyond grateful that you’d done that for him, and was so excited at seeing all of the cool supplies he didn’t even protest much. Seeing him excited like a little kid made your heart flutter, so much that it was difficult to keep in mind that he was just your friend and roommate, not your boyfriend.  
As soon as the two of you were done with breakfast the next morning, Arthur asked to go outside with you so he could sketch and break in some of his new supplies. It was a beautiful day, so you agreed, breaking out a blanket that you placed in the middle of your backyard. You laid out on it, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine, while Arthur drew. Occasionally you’d peek over to see what he’d done, complimenting him or suggesting he try a particular sketch in watercolor later on.  
At one point, you caught him staring at you out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked at him quizzically, he just gave you a half smile and went back to drawing. He wouldn’t show you any more of his drawings after that, though.  
One evening the following week, you came home to find Arthur engrossed in painting, several finished watercolors laid on the table. Most of them were familiar scenes from your backyard, but a few you recognized as elements or scenery from the game. All of them were incredibly gorgeous. He seemed to have a natural talent for watercolor, knowing exactly where and how to use the heavier, darker colors, as well as the lighter shades, for beautifully realistic images.  
“Oh, hey! Sorry, meant to have these all cleared up before you got home.” He stood to put them away, but you stopped him.  
“I’m glad you didn’t, they’re lovely. You’re really good, Arthur.”  
“Aw, they ain’t much. Just something to fill time. Glad you like ‘em, though.”  
“I love them. Can I get some frames and hang a few?”  
“Sure, I guess. Don’t know why you’d wanna bother, though.”  
You slapped his arm playfully. “They’re nice, and I like them. That’s good enough, right?”  
“If you say so . . . .”  
He didn’t say anything else, but you could see the smile on his face as he turned to put them all away.

9  
When you arrived home Friday night, expecting to take Arthur out again, you opened the door to the smell of cooking food. In the kitchen, Arthur was hunched over the stove, humming happily to himself. You smiled. It was a picture of domestic bliss.  
“What’s going on in here?” You queried, making him look up with a start.  
“Hey! Just thought I’d make some dinner for tonight, so you don’t have to spend no more of your money on me.” You rolled your eyes, ready to reassure him again, but he stopped you. “I know you say you don’t mind, but the truth is, I feel like a damn fool, sitting around here doing so little. I feel like no matter what I’ll never be able to repay you for all you done for me, so I thought I’d do this, at least. Now sit down and eat, before it gets cold.”  
After a few minutes of eating, you finally told him what was on your mind.  
“You know, I wish you wouldn’t worry so much about doing enough to repay me. Honestly, just having you around for company is enough for me.”  
“Well, I ain’t much company.”  
“Sure you are. We get along, we like a lot of the same things. You make me laugh. You’re a good friend.”  
“Friends, huh?” You couldn’t help but notice the slight scowl as he said that, and you rushed to reassure him that you meant it.  
“Yeah. I haven’t had a lot of friends. Not real friends. Mostly my friends have all been people who I just happened to see often, but didn’t really have a lot in common with, or who used me for whatever they could, but never gave anything back. I . . .” You swallowed hard. “I guess I’ve had a pretty lonely life. Kinda pathetic, I guess.”  
He looked at you sadly. “I don’t think you’re pathetic.”  
You tried to shovel in a few more mouthfuls of food, to get your thoughts off of the way he was staring at you, but somehow you’d managed to scare away your appetite. After a minute, instead of forcing yourself to eat anyway, you headed to put it away, sorry you wouldn’t get to eat it fresh. He got up from the table, following you.  
“I’m sorry, Arthur. It’s delicious, I just- I can’t eat it right now.”  
You turned to him, half expecting him to be angry, but instead, he was still looking at you with those deep, sad eyes. You tried to hold back, be strong and not let it get to you, but seeing him look at you that way was too much. Tears stung in your eyes and were soon trailing down your cheeks.  
When you tried to turn away so he wouldn’t see, he grabbed your shoulders, turning you back around and wrapping his arms around you. Soon you were sobbing into his chest while he stroked your back, resting his chin on your head. Unable to help yourself, you put your arms around his waist and soaked up the comfort he gave like your life depended on it.  
When your sobs had settled down some, you leaned back, wiping your eyes.  
“You know, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just a few friends, but . . ,” you inhaled deeply, sterling yourself for the confession you were about to make, “it’s everything. Everyone. I haven’t had a single relationship with anyone that wasn’t all about the other person’s needs. If I dared want anything, I was in the wrong. No matter how much I gave, it was never enough. I was never good enough.”  
A dry chuckle from Arthur. “I guess I know what you mean there.” He stroked your hair while you leaned in against his chest, enjoying his warmth. “ But I think anybody that doesn’t get how amazing you are is a goddamn idiot.”  
You laugh, completely devoid of humor. “ You realize that would be literally every person I’ve ever met, right?” You leaned back to look in his eyes. “I’m serious. All I’ve ever heard my whole damn life is how awful I am. How I’m horrible, ugly, and never good enough at anything to be useful. Hell, my goddamn parents told me that. So, thanks for trying, but I doubt the whole world is wrong.”  
“If that’s what the whole world says, then maybe it is wrong. Cause I don’t think that at all. You’re wonderful. You’re gentle, and kind, and,”he paused for a moment to tuck some hair behind your ear, “you’re so goddamn beautiful.”  
Panic rose in his chest as he realized what he’d said, but he knew it was too late to take it back. His eyes chased out yours, trying to see how big of a mistake he’d just made, and if he would be able to fix it, but he couldn’t read anything in your sad smile, or the way you thanked him and turned away.  
Though you’d moved to face away from him, he let his hands linger around your waist, not quite able to face letting you go just yet. You tried to thank him again, to tell him he was being an incredible friend in putting up with you through this, but something about the look in his eyes when you faced him again stopped you. Your thoughts turned back to what he’d just said.  
He’d called you beautiful, ‘so goddamn beautiful’. But that didn’t mean anything, right? Why would it? This was a man who, despite the dismal view he seemed to have of himself, could have his choice if women here, in your world. Once he understood that, he’d never even think about you again, even as a friend.  
It had to happen eventually. You pulled him over to the sofa, taking out your laptop. Soon, you had website after website up, each one filled with people talking about how attractive he was, and how much they wished he was real. You showed him, watching the confusion filter across his face.  
“You see what you mean to people? How many people think you’re absolutely incredible, and would give anything to be with you?”  
He shook his head. “I ain’t nothing special. Why would anyone want me?”  
“Because you ARE special, Arthur, no matter what you think of yourself. As soon as I can figure out some way to get you legal, in the system, and able to cope on your own, you can have anybody you want, Arthur. Anyone.”  
He reached over, carefully closing the laptop. “I don’t want just anybody. I only want one person, more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. But I know I can’t have ‘em, cause there’s no way someone like them could want someone like me. Except as a friend?” His hand slid over the top of yours as he looked in your eyes.  
“Arthur- you don’t want me. I know you don’t. Give it time. I’m disgusting, unloveable. I’m probably the least desirable person on the planet.” Tears spilled from your eyes. It hurt to say it to him, but you knew it was true. There’s no way he could be happy with you, not when he could do so much better.  
He moved his hand. “If you ain’t interested, you can just say so. It won’t be the first time I made a goddamn fool of myself.”  
“Dammit, it’s not that! I do want you. You’re fucking amazing, Arthur, and if I thought you could be happy with me . . . .” You look down into your lap. “I’m broken. I think I always will be.”  
He shifted positions, kneeling in the floor in front of you to look in your eyes.  
“I’m broke too. But you make me feel like I ain’t. If you’d let me, I’ll try my best to do the same for you.”  
The two of you sat there, stomachs in knots, for what felt like ages. Finally, you spoke in a quiet voice.  
“You sure? Really sure?”  
He put his forehead against yours, wrapping a hand against the back of your neck.  
“First time I saw your face, that night I showed up? I knew I had to be dead, because I figured nothing that beautiful could exist in the world. You looked like an angel to me. Still do.”

10  
Tears fell uncontrollably from your eyes, leaving Arthur confused and trying to apologize for upsetting you. When you finally got control of yourself enough to explain that they were happy tears, because no one had ever said anything that nice to you before, a grin split his face. Immediately he scooped you into his arms and pulled you into his lap, holding you close and whispering things to you about how pretty you were, how kind, and so on. He was rushing his words so fast he could barely breathe.  
You were quickly growing frustrated with being unable to get a word in. After all, if he was getting to say nice things about you, shouldn’t you be able to do the same? You tried opening your mouth, talking over him, and even putting a finger to his lips to shut him up, but nothing was working. In a last act of desperation, you pressed your lips to his.  
That shut him up.  
And may have broken him.  
He just sat there, staring at you with a goofy smile on his face. Finally, you reached out, stroking the side of his face. As soon as your hand reached him, his eyes closed, and he leaned into your gentle contact. The look of peace on his face as he bathed in your touch was more than beautiful to you, though not quite as beautiful as the sigh he let out as you started sprinkling little kisses across his face. Oh, you kissed every inch of skin you could reach, soft, sweet pecks that said more to him than words ever could.  
Your hands slipped around his neck, caressing him, until suddenly you were lifted in the air. He carried you to the bedroom, placing you on the bed as if you were made of glass before crawling up beside you and pulling you into his arms. For the longest time, he just held you, looking into your eyes and gently stroking the side of your face, like he couldn’t believe he was there with you, that you were real.  
When he finally brought his lips to yours, there was no rush to it. It was soft, slow, languorous. His hand journeyed around your form, down your side, across the slope of your back, taking in your shape with such care he might have been committing it to memory. Your hand was warm on the back of his neck, sliding up to run your fingers through his hair, thick and soft. A gentle moan rumbled against your lips as he pulled you closer. It was pure heaven.  
His mouth was full of the taste of you, better than cigarettes, better than beer, or liquor, or anything else he’d ever tasted. He wasn’t, as he might have expected, hungry for you, for your taste, your touch, your smell. For maybe the first time in his life, he felt patient, content with exactly what he had at the moment. And what he had was you- the culmination of a lifetime of wishes and dreams, given to a man who only a short time ago had assumed he was bound for hell.  
Hours of kisses gave way to the overwhelming exhaustion that often follows high emotions, and you finally parted to shower, resuming your closeness under the covers. Legs twined together, arms enveloping warm bodies. Foreheads touched in the darkness, and soft kisses of goodnight were exchanged. As you fell asleep, breathing in the scent of him, the warmth of happiness filled your heart.  
When you woke, he was looking down at you, a smile on his face as bright as the sun. It almost made you feel shy, and you pressed your face against him as he enfolded you in his arms. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips as he buried his face in your hair. In the soft morning light, there was an unspoken sense of peace and happiness between you, each of you knowing you were exactly where you belonged

11  
Things moved slowly between the two of you, something for which you were infinitely grateful. Before either of you became too wrapped up in the idea of yourselves as a couple, you wanted to be sure Arthur had a firm grasp on his own identity in this modern world. He’d lived enough of his life enmeshed in someone else’s idea of who he should be. Besides, before things got to a certain point, there was a conversation that needed to be had about sex in the modern world, and it wasn’t one you were exactly looking forward too. Awkwardness was a guarantee.  
At first, it was easy. Neither of you were keen to push things too fast, and were happy just to have each other. The routine of things was just as pleasant as you’d hoped, small moments of affection throughout the day as natural to both of you as breathing. He’d surprise you with a kiss to the temple as you sat behind your laptop. You’d softly run your hand across his shoulder as you sat down to dinner. Sometimes you’d just sit, arms around each other, enjoying the feeling of being together.  
Soon, those soft touches became more lingering. Instead of the tender graze of lips you usually gave him, your teeth nipped at his lower lip. His gentle squeeze of your waist and peck on the cheek became his arms around your waist, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. Always, always, it ended in hitched breathing and deep sighs, wishing for more but still not daring.  
Nights were usually the worst. Something about the darkness made you both bolder, hands reaching towards areas they wouldn’t go near in the daylight. Kisses were deeper, longer. You explored each other’s bodies, finding the secret and sensitive areas that sent blood rushing and hearts racing, until finally you broke apart to lay on your backs, feeling the need for a cold shower, despite the chilly air.  
One afternoon, the two of you lay in bed, Arthur lazily tracing the curve of your spine with his fingertips. The length of your body was against his, one arm around his waist, as you nuzzled into his neck. Occasionally, you’d place a soft kiss there, or nip at his skin playfully. Whenever you did, he’d grunt softly, pressing against the small of your back, which made you shift your hips against him, causing a low growl from deep in his chest. You’d both settle down for a bit, and then one of you would start the process over again. Finally, Arthur cleared his throat.  
“Hey, uh, can I tell you something?”  
“Of course,” you said, but when you leaned back to look at him, his eyes were focused on some distant spot above your head. His cheeks also looked slightly pink.  
“I, uh, well . . ,” he paused, swallowing hard. “See, the thing is . . . I really like this spending time together, and being close, and . . . I really, really don’t want you to think I’m being pushy or anything, because I’m not. I don’t want you to do anything that makes you feel bad, or uncomfortable, or that you don’t want to do or anything . . . .”  
Ah. You had a feeling you knew where this conversation was heading. “But you think that maybe you’d like things to move forward a bit more?”  
He sighed, looking down at you at last. “Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I love what we been doing. It makes me real happy just to be close to you at all.”  
“Yeah, but it gets to a point, and it’s just not . . . satisfying, I think. Not enough, anyway.” He nodded, burying his face in your hair. “I know what you mean. I feel that way too.” A few seconds later, you added, “Just to be clear, we’re talking about sex, right? ‘Being together’?”  
He chuckled, that low sound in his throat that made you shiver every time. “Yeah. Guess so. Sometimes I forget things ain’t like they used to be. Talking plain about that kinda thing’s gonna take some getting used to.” He looked at you smiling at him, then confusion flashed across his face. “Wait, if you feel the same way, why ain’t anything happened yet? Not that I’m pushing, of course.”  
“Honestly, Arthur, I wanted to be sure you were a healthy place mentally. Being suddenly thrown into a new world that’s both over a hundred years in the future and one in which you used to be only a fictional character is probably gonna affect your mind a little.” He laughed. “Plus you lived so much of your life being a version of yourself that someone else wanted, having no real choice in the matter, that I figured it might be nice for you to decide what you wanted to happen, when you wanted it to happen.”  
“Well if you was just waiting on me, we could’ve been at it like rabbits some time ago.”  
“Hold on, now, while I appreciate the thought, there’s more to it than just that. There’s a lot that’s different about sex in the modern world. I mean, the mechanics are the same, but nowadays we have to think about illnesses, consent, birth control- and there are some things that are considered common now that you might not be very familiar with. I don’t want to start in on something and have you suddenly panic because you have no idea what I’m doing.”  
“Alright, then, talk me through it. I don’t promise I’m gonna understand everything, but I’ll ask questions as much as I can. I’ll go ahead and apologize if I seem way too old fashioned about things, but if you ease me into it, I think we’ll be okay.”  
You laughed, wrapping your arm around his neck and pulling him into a deep kiss. In response, he rolled you onto your back, crawling over you and pressing kiss after kiss into your neck until you were laughing uncontrollably. When he pulled back to see your face, you placed a hand on each side of his face.  
“Let’s go have a talk, Arthur.”  
A grin spread across his face. “Yes ma’am.”

12  
Though the talk you had with Arthur wasn’t quite as awkward as you thought it would be, it took significantly longer, mainly due to the fact that he needed time to process certain information before he could move on. Sex education was all but nonexistent in his time, and what little there was happened to be mostly incorrect, factually speaking, with no emphasis on female pleasure at all. Luckily Arthur was more than happy to learn in that department, eager to do anything that would make things better for you.  
Eventually, all of the basics were covered, plus a few things beyond that, and Arthur asked for a little time to get comfortable with what he’d learned and let it sink in. You told him to take all the time he needed. Whatever happened, whenever and wherever it happened, his comfort was priority, as far as you were concerned. You made it clear that you were going to let him initiate things, and let him set the boundaries that felt best to him. More than anything, there needed to be clear communication, even if it felt slightly awkward, so that you could be sure he was happy and enjoying it.  
He agreed, and life went on as it had before. Cuddling was a daily activity, whether you were in his arms or he was in yours. Each of you learned the types of touches and kisses the other enjoyed most, thoroughly enjoying the process, and you started to recognize the subtle signs he wanted more, or wasn’t entirely enjoying something.  
Nights were always spent in the safety of each other’s arms, and these were the times you felt closest to him. The world was quiet, there was nothing to distract you. It was just you and him, hearts beating, breath against each other’s skin. You’d both taken to wearing less to bed, you leaving off pants and him no longer bothering with shirts, so that more of your skin could touch. Waking up to the feeling of your face against his chest was a sensation you hoped you’d never get used to.  
One afternoon, the two of you sat on the couch, Arthur working in his journal while you read a book with your feet in his lap. Every now and then, you’d look up at each other, smile, then return to what you were doing. You really enjoyed watching Arthur as he drew. He always got the cutest look of concentration on his face, sometimes with his tongue sticking out just a bit. After watching him for a while, you noticed he would sketch for a bit, then flick his eyes towards you for a little while before resuming.  
“Arthur?” He hummed in response. “Whatcha drawing?”  
“Nothing much.”  
“Can I see?”  
“Naw, it ain’t much, I promise.”  
“Then let me see.”  
“No.”  
“Please?” You gave him your best puppy eyes, complete with pouty lips and fluttering eyelashes, but he still refused, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. Literally. The next time he paused, you snatched his journal away from him, leaping backwards on the couch. The second you tried to look at his drawing, he was on you, doing his best to take it back while you held it just out of reach, locking your legs around his waist. In response, he dove into your neck, nibbling the spot he knew made you laugh every time.  
Shrieking with laughter, you kept the arm that held his journal extended while throwing the other around his shoulders. He was resting on his elbows, his body pinning you to the couch. In an attempt to get him to stop tickling you, you used your free hand to tug on his hair. He eased up, but left his face buried in your neck, your breath heavy from all the laughing.  
He shifted, letting his teeth graze against your neck, and a shiver coursed it’s way down your spine. Suddenly what had been playful teasing turned into something more. Your hands tangled in his hair, gripping it hard as his tongue trailed against your throat, his hips pressing into you. The feel of him between your legs, thick and hard, forced a moan from your throat as his journal slipped out of your hand, forgotten, falling over the arm of the sofa. There were other things on your mind now.  
Your lips crashed against his desperately, tongue chasing the sweet taste of his mouth, while your hands gripped at the thick muscles of his back. Hands roaming your body, he soon slipped them beneath your shirt to brush across your breasts. He was tender at first, gentle and almost timid, until he heard your gasps, tinged with need. Passion took over, driving him to caress you with an urgency that kindled the fever burning through you. Soon you were tugging his shirt off, wanting more of his skin to kiss, more of the warmth of him against you. It was intoxicating, the feeling of desire he lit inside you, knowing that he felt the same.  
He stood, pulling you up after him and leading you to the bedroom. As he drew you into a deep kiss, his free hand followed the shape of your hip, finding the curve of your ass and cupping it with a moan. The sight of you pulling back, lifting your shirt to expose so much of your skin, had him entranced, eyes dark with lust. Your body was on fire for him, you needed him against you, touching you, kissing you.  
As you lay down, he laid his body over yours gently, lowering his head to trail kisses across your chest, your breasts, your stomach, before pausing at the edge of your pants to look up at you, fingers toying with the button there. Biting your lip, you reached down to unfasten your pants, and once he saw that it was what you wanted, he took over, slowly sliding your pants down your legs as he kissed a trail against your thighs.  
He stood at your feet, drinking in the sight of your nearly bare body. His breathing was rapid, heated with a desire that made itself obvious between his legs as he unfastened his pants. He wasn’t nearly as slow with removing his own pants as he had been with yours, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them as quickly as he could. He was a vision before you, broad and thick, cock straining at the front of his tight boxer briefs.  
You beckoned him forward, watching and biting your lip in anticipation as he brought his body over yours. Fingertips tracing the lace of your bra, he kissed the swell of each breast, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark, then lifted his eyes to meet yours.  
“Jesus, you’re beautiful.”  
Smiling, you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, then rolled yourself on top of him. Straddling his hips, you sat up and reached back to unhook your bra, lowering it at a tortuously slow pace. When his eyes finally lit on your naked skin, you heard his breath catch as he raised his hand. His fingertips brushed softly across the sensitive rise of your nipple as he cupped your breast and began massaging it gently. Moaning, you tipped your head back, hips beginning to languidly work against his. For a second his hand left your breast as he adjusted himself so that his length was pressed against you, and his moans were added to yours.  
As his sounds grew louder, the roll of your hips grew faster, more insistent, until his hands gripped your hips with a fierceness you thought might leave bruises. His head was thrown back, his teeth bared as he fought against the urge to use his strength to rip off your underwear and thrust himself into you, letting you ride him however you pleased. Finally he’d had enough teasing, gripping your underwear and pulling them off as quickly as he could, his own following soon after.  
As the weight of his body pressed down on yours, your hands slid over his chest to wrap around his shoulders, his mouth against your neck. You could feel him pressed against your opening, hard and thick, begging to be inside of you. For a moment you worried he might be too large, but as you rocked against him he eased his way in, growling as he felt you wet around him. He strained to pace himself despite how badly he wanted to fuck you hard and fast, knowing how quickly it would be over if he did. This was a moment he wanted to last, and to be good for you.  
When he lifted himself to look at your face, the sight nearly did him in then and there. Eyes closed, head thrown back, your face was a sublime mask of pleasure, your plump pink lips held open as you breathed his name over and over again between moans. Your hands gripped his shoulders as he thrust into you, squeezing him when he hit that perfect spot inside you. Every gasp brought him closer to the edge.  
Caressing the side of your face, he ran his thumb over your cheek. Your eyes met his, and suddenly there were butterflies in his stomach, like he was looking at you for the first time all over again. You were so perfect, so beautiful. He pressed his face into your hair, breathing in your scent, as he slipped his hand into yours.  
Soon his arms were tented above your head, your hands on his chest as he pushed into you harder and faster. The heat between his legs was building fast now, and both of you knew it wouldn’t be long. As if on cue, his body tensed, a guttural moan escaping him as his hips bucked erratically. His body collapsed over yours, and you stroked his back softly while he caught his breath. He pressed gentle kisses against the side of your face, murmuring your name as he did. The deliciousness of his weight on top of you, coupled with the tenderness of his touch, left you in a haze of euphoria that wouldn’t be fading anytime soon.


End file.
